The Golden Lotus
by MastersofNight
Summary: Leaving Paris, Erik takes on the personae of Charles Martin and hires on Javier Fernandez to crew the cargo boat he operates. Backstory to The Sorcerer of Rouen. Set after film. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Category:** Book, Phantom of the Opera

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** T for mild language

**Summary:** Leaving Paris, Erik takes on the personae of Charles Martin and hires on Javier Fernández to crew the cargo boat he operates. Through Javier we are introduced to Erik, and we follow them on several journeys that forge their friendship.

**A/N:** This is a back story for _The Sorcerer of Rouen_, if you have not read _Sorcerer_, please understand that references to Erik and Martin are the same person. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Who owns Erik? Only Erik himself. Although none of us have ever met him, we feel his loneliness, his pain, and marvel at his search for a world that would welcome him. Leroux told us his story, Webber gave us the music, and Schumacher embellished it as so many others have. Based on events following the movie.

**The Golden Lotus**

_Chapter One: January, Le Havre France, the English Channel_

The wind off the churning iron grey waves would cut through a man's clothes like a knife, and paint exposed surfaces in a rim of ice. Winter was always a dangerous time of the year. The damp cold would sear the lungs; numb the fingers, and bring tears to the eyes of the men who worked outside loading the boats and barges. Even the boats in their berths along the docks seemed to shiver under the onslaught of the winter storms.

Javier Fernández hovered near the small coal fire in the stove. They hadn't had snow in the south of Spain. He could remember the hot sun, and the endless fields of grain. His family had left Seville behind, his father never told him why. He took out a pocket flask and took a drink; it snaked down his throat leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He sat forward to toss another small lump of coal into the stove.

Across the cabin of the boat his father sat at a table. "I'm telling you; go see Martin about the job. Stop wasting your time on Forchein. He pays next to nothing, and his men are always getting hurt."

Javier respected his father. He was a decent man, and did his best for his family. "I hear you. I'll talk to Martin when I can find him." He took another drink. "What's his boat called?"

"The _Erebus_." His father added, "He makes runs to Paris and Belguim, but uses Rouen for a port like we do."

00000

The pale morning sun brought wan illumination and no warmth with it. Javier walked briskly towards the warehouses, his collar turned up and his hands jammed in his pockets. He walked between the wagons as they pulled out of the warehouse doors, and the men moving barrels and crates from the boats, the horses blowing gouts of steaming breath from their nostrils. He looked for the boat.

It sat next to a steam-powered shovel. Like some terrible iron giant, the shovel turned, opening its jaws to bite down into a pile of coal. Swinging back to the boat, it would open that metal maw and drop the coal into the cargo hold. "Hey, where's your boss?" He asked one of the crew. The reply was that Luc Forchein was at a tavern. Cursing in fluent Spanish, he turned on his heel and headed back against the iron teeth of the wind.

By the time he found the tavern, Forchein had just left. Javier ordered a drink and sat on a stool, rubbing his stinging face. Tossing down the drink, he waited for the inevitable burn in his stomach, flexing his stiff fingers. When the pins and needles sensation left his face, he got up to retrace his steps back to the docks.

Moving towards the door, another man got up to leave the tavern. Tall and lean, he moved fluidly through the crowd as other patrons glanced his direction and stepped out of his way. A slight turn of his head revealed a dark expanse of material on one side of his face. Javier remembered his father's description of Charles Martin. Picking up the pace, he closed in on the man he was following. "Excuse me, monsieur! Are you Martin?"

The look on the man's face stopped Javier dead. He had the strange feeling that this is how a dog felt when it came up against a larger, meaner dog. The black material covered the side of his face from a mismatched hairline to just past the nose. Part of the cheek was exposed; the skin carried the red color of flesh that had been burned. The right eye was covered, and there seemed to be something _wrong_ about the angles of the bones the material rested on. He waited for the man to reply.

Erik turned to look at the man who had called his name. Almost his own height, the boy looked to be in his mid twenties. "What do you want?"

"A job, monsieur. I am Javier Isandro Galván Fernández, at your service." He gave the cold eyed man a moment to look him over. As the impassive gaze rested upon him, Javier felt his chances of working with him diminishing with every moment that ticked by. He shrugged, "Failing that, I am going to get one with Luc Forchein."

"Only an imbecile works for Forchein. You'll enjoy better health if you distance yourself from his boat." Erik added, "Are you any relation to Héctor Galván?"

"Yes, he is my father. He is the one who pointed me in your direction." Javier replied.

No doubt the touch of the Moorish blood in his family spoke for the younger man's dark good looks. Erik had worked with this man's father before. If the son had learned his work ethic from his father, this young man might make a good partner. "Be at the last warehouse on the Rue Daudet tomorrow ready to leave."

Javier began to reply, but the man had already turned and headed towards the door. Going for another drink, Javier weighed his choices. Forchein worked quickly, and was reputed to put a little extra cash in the pockets of his crew. He knew nothing of this Charles Martin except that his father had been impressed by him.

Laying his empty glass on the bar, he gave it a spin. If it stopped pointing to his left, it was Forchein, if to the right, Martin. The glass stopped, pointing left. Ah well, he thought, what does a glass know? He kept buying drinks until the glass finally stopped, pointing to the right.

00000

Sitting down on a crate next to the warehouse wall, Javier huddled in his coat, rubbing his fingers to keep the feeling in them. From the warehouse strode Martin, a cargo manifest in hand. He glanced at Javier and nodded towards a boat.

Javier grabbed his bag of clothing and tools and followed the man. The boat was a mid sized version of the canal boats that hauled cargo the length of the Seine, and up the north of Normandy to Belgium. Stepping inside the cabin Javier was surprised by how clean and organized it looked.

Erik walked in front of the Spaniard. Giving him a quick tour he pointed out the cabinets on the left with the food and supplies, the table and stools to the right, farther back, the small coal burning stove with a bench by it, several machines on stands, and beyond the partition, the bunk area and water closet. "The cabinet next to your bunk locks," he pulled out a key from the top drawer. "You can lock up your personal items in it."

Javier took a moment to hang up his few extra clothes on the pegs that lined the partition wall. He left the key laying on the cabinet. As of yet, the only valuables he had were five francs in bills and coins, and the crucifix around his neck.

Going forward, he joined Martin in preparing to cast off the boat. "We are due to make three stops between here and Paris." Erik told him. He was about to add more, when shouts erupted from down the docks.

Men came running from every direction. Javier quickly climbed up to the top of the cabin roof and looked at a birth where men were casting ropes into the water. "What the hell?"

Martin joined him. "Forchein," he said quietly, "he finally overloaded."

"What? You mean the coal?" Javier looked back in horror. The entire boat had disappeared. He had heard stories of it happening under too much weight. The boat would pop apart at the seams, and drop to the bottom taking everything on it down. "_¡Dios mio!_ There were three men on that boat."

"There still are."

Martin's softly spoken reply made the skin crawl up Javier's back. Looking at the man, he asked, "How did you know?"

Erik looked at the man's shocked face. He gave a careless shrug. "Forchein is like the butcher who puts his thumb on the scale as he weights the meat. Sooner or later, his fixing the numbers to hide the actual weight was going to catch up to him. Unfortunately, it also caught up with his crew." He turned away and went back to work, leaving Javier to say a prayer.

There was a kind of kinship between the men who did this job. More than once crews broke apart to reorganize and take on other men. Gossip from one end of France to the other helped the crews know what was happening in the towns they thought of as home. When a family was in trouble, a collection would be tossed in a hat in a local tavern to be sent to the man's family. Tonight, a hat would be passed for the widows of Forchein's crew. Somewhere along the Seine river, a husband and father would not be coming home. It was the news no one wanted to bear home to the grieving family, but happened often when the times were hard.

00000

"We take the Seine by Conflans, north on the Oise River to Compiegne, join the Canal Du Nord, the Canal de St. Quentin, and across on the Canal de Mons into Brussels." Erik instructed. "Monsieur Dugast should have a return cargo waiting for us in the city."

"That's quite a run," Javier commented. "Will we need to pick up more supplies?"

"I have some stops along the way," Martin replied, "places I frequent."

Javier was to learn the places Martin spoke of were pick up and drop off points for some small packages that would be nestled into the cabin in the dark of night, and leave later under the same cover of darkness. On an otherwise boring trip, they stopped six times briefly to pick up these goods, meeting with men in village taverns along the river.

In Brussels, he accompanied Martin to a district where the Chinese lived. With their dark straight hair braided in long queues along their slim backs, their beautifully shaped eyes took him in impassively as they dealt with Martin. Words were exchanged in a quiet economy. Martin introduced him to the eldest man, Han Shixiang, his hair sported streaks of black and grey. Javier nodded politely and waited quietly for the business to come to a close.

As they left the small store, he caught a glimpse of a slight figure wrapped in silk. Hair as dark as his own drifted in a fall around a serene face, the woman's eyes moved over his body, and she appeared to like what she saw.

"Forget it, Javier." Martin took hold of his arm and pushed him through the shop door. "They will castrate you and hand you your balls in a silk lined box if you even entertain that thought."

"She's beautiful," Javier replied. "I've never been close enough to see one of their women."

"She's the old man's last daughter. Their marriages are arranged. Their women are a means to make more money or assure ties to other families."

The old man had offered Erik one of his daughters. She would have come to him willingly for the sake of her family's pride, but he had refused. He didn't want a martyr, a woman who was doing her duty, rather than her desire. He didn't want a woman who would close her eyes and turn away from him. He was reminded every day that his face set him apart, he didn't want to come home to it every night.

00000

Nursing a glass of wine, Erik ignored the serving girl as she swept past. He'd been there enough times that the patrons and bar girls knew to leave him alone. When the glass would run empty, he'd set it towards the edge of the table and another would be dropped off quietly. They never asked for payment. When it was time for him to leave, he'd toss coins on the table.

Another winning hand and one of the Spaniard's companions was complaining about his wife not liking how much he spent on cards. Javier pursed his lips and nodded sagely, "Tha's why I don't have a wife." When his companions had finally given up for the night, he surreptitiously slipped a few francs back in the pocket of the complaining husband.

Erik approved. The dock workers earned their money in sweat and backbreaking work, but often wasted it on drinks. Many a time he had handed over a few franc notes to some quaking little mouse of a woman who had found her husband face down in the street outside a tavern.

A man alone in the world, he would have been glad to earn a day's wage and bring it home to a family that eagerly waited for him to return. Women stayed away from him. A few must have been curious, but shied away after taking a good look at the patched side of his face.

He'd left by the river as the hellish glare from the dying Opera house lit the Paris night two years ago. He'd been resigned to leave it all: the music, the dreams, and Christine. The devouring fire wiped out his chances of staying at the Opera, and truly, he would not have stayed even if it had not. With Christine's kiss, he knew his life would never be the same.

The Opera Ghost died that night, and Charles Martin was born. After swapping clothes with a drunk in an alley, he had begged a ride to England on a barge. When the barge passed through Rouen, he got off on an impulse. Rouen was close to the village where he had been born, and listening to the chiming of the hundred church bells in the evening light had caused a deep melancholy to find him, hold him, pull him back to the city to stay.

When he'd made enough money on his own, he'd purchased a boat, and let the current crew run it. Cargos for it were secured through a man named Georges Dugast. As his fortunes increased, he purchased another boat he renamed the _Erebus_. Christened for one of the infernal regions below the earth, it was an apt description of his life after separating himself from his music and Christine. It became his home, and Dugast once again kept the manifest booked.

After Javier left, Erik finished the last of the wine and tossed a few coins down. The serving girl had glanced away as he got up, he was used to that. If eyes were truly the windows of the soul, no one wanted to see what was in his.

Outside the wind off the river pushed his hair over the large black patch that covered one side of his face. He began walking back to the boat, when he heard a scuffle in the alley. Stopping, he listened before carefully moving around the corner of the building and into the shadows.

Two men were at the opposite end of the alley holding up a third. Erik recognized Javier, and moved closer.

Javier was more than a little drunk, his pockets lined with his winnings from cards. He had thought to take a short cut through the alley when someone had clubbed him over the head. With a lance of agony stabbing his temple, someone had tossed him up against the wall while another man was rifling his pockets.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N I do not speak or write Chinese, any errors in the language are mine as I have had to rely upon the internet for my source. If anyone can correct me-please let me know.**

**The Golden Lotus**

_Chapter Two: May, Roeun, France_

With a lance of agony stabbing his temple, someone had tossed Javier up against the wall while another man was rifling his pockets.

He reached towards his aching head, but the thief delivered a punch to his gut that bent him over double. "Not much left, must have bought the drinks," he mumbled, grabbing Javier's head by his hair, "too bad, the ladies will miss you."

Javier had enough presence of mind to see the glint off the knife in the man's hand; "Hail Mary, full of Grace..." he began. His life was going to end here.

Hands left his body; the thief was jerked away and flung backwards into the dark. The knife wielder turned too late to see the hand that grabbed his wrist and forced it backwards. His yelp of pain was cut off by a blow to the side of his head knocking him senseless against the wall; the knife hit the ground making the last sound to be heard in the alley.

Javier had dropped sitting with his back against the wall. He must have blacked out, because he woke to a wave of nausea that overcame him, and turned to throw up violently. Pulling a handkerchief from a pocket to wipe his mouth, he sat up and looked around the alley.

The knife wielder was just moving out of the alley, holding one arm closed to his body. Moving on hands and knees Javier approached the thief. The man lay on his back; his neck askew at an odd angle, a thin dark line ringed his throat. The man's eyes were open, a look of surprise on his features, he knew the man was dead. Javier made the sign of the cross and got to his feet.

* * *

_June, Rouen, France_

Paying for the last of the supplies, Javier picked up his bag and headed out the door of the shop. Across the street stood Marthe Garatte, she looked up and down the road and motioned him over with a toss of her head. She was a tall blousy woman with wiry red hair and piercing dark eyes. "I need to talk to your boss, Javier." She told him in a dark, smoky voice.

He gave her his most charming smile. Javier didn't usually resort to the prostitutes in town, but it never hurt to be friendly to the girls. "What do you need, Madame? Maybe I can be of service?"

She gave a bark of laughter and a playful slap on the shoulder, "Javier you could charm the clothes off of a nun, but to get under these skirts costs money." She glanced towards the tavern, "Besides, Michel doesn't like me giving it away for free. Bad for the trade you understand?"

Javier pretended to look crushed, "Very well, break my heart! All you women do." He sobered, "What do you need from Martin?"

"We've got trouble with one of the younger girls. This fellow keeps bothering her, to the tune of bruises. She wants a ride home to La Roche. We took up some money to pay her way."

Javier had never seen Martin being overly attentive to any of the women he dealt with. He had taught Javier the benefits of getting gossip from the shop girls or prostitutes. On occasion, he had actually seen Martin slip them some money, but never for their bodies. "Marthe, I don't think Martin will take her. He moves cargo, and not the two legged kind."

"Just tell him it's a favor," she replied.

Back at the boat, he told Martin about the prostitute's request. "Marthe says the man is roughing her up."

"I'll talk to her," Erik told him, leaving the boat for the city streets.

Although they were in Rouen which Martin claimed a preference for, he always stayed on the boat, it was literally his home. Javier had noticed how Martin was sought after by a lot of people. They rarely came to the boat itself, but rather sent messages to Martin through him or waited to talk to him while he was in town. He had tried joking with Martin once, telling him he was going to have to pay him extra for being his messenger boy, and received a flat look and a non committal grunt in return.

Preferring to keep things good natured, Javier had learned how far to pry, how far to tease, and when to simply accept that the man would reveal very little about himself. Observing how he dealt with others, Javier got a better grasp of what made Martin the man he was under that taciturn exterior.

* * *

"She's a good kid, she doesn't deserve this," Marthe said tiredly.

"Where's her home," Erik asked.

"La Roche is where her family was from. It's the only other place she knows."

Erik considered his next run, it was north, not east and certainly not miles past Paris as they were asking him to take the girl. He considered his options. "Would she take a mill job here if she could?"

"Probably, she's only a whore because that was all that was left for her. She just needs to get away from that bastard before he does damage to her that won't heal."

Some of that damage was probably done already, but he would make sure that more wouldn't occur. He took a card out of his wallet, "Tell her to talk to this man. They'll be expecting her, he'll have something for her."

Marthe took the card. "Dugast? Doesn't he work for one of the cargo companies?"

"Yes, but he and I owe each other some favors. Tell her to show him the card. He'll find something for her." He thought for a moment, "Does she need money?"

"No, cher, we'll cover for her. What do we owe you?"

Erik shook his head. "Nothing."

Marthe gave him a slow smile, "Anytime, cher. You understand? Any of the girls will take care of you. You do us a lot of favors, yes?"

Erik nodded. "Yes, I understand." He walked away.

* * *

_July, Canal du Nord, Normandy, France_

Moving under the pull of a mule along the tow path, the boat would set about a 4 knot cruise on the Canal du Nord on the way to Dunkerque. Javier stayed outside for most of the trip, soaking up the warm sun, but today had started out overcast.

Their route would take them past villages, and through locks along the canals. Javier chatted with the lock keepers as they waited for the water levels to change. Some of the families would come out, offering for sale vegetables from their gardens, or some of the local wines.

As their boat eased into the lock and the gates closed, Javier noticed a group of children running. From the lock keeper's house, a girl appeared, yelling for her father. "Papa, we can't find Marie!"

The group was looking around the edge of the canal, one of the children pointed, Javier saw the small child lost in the tall grass tottering towards the edge, and she was walking towards a small dog that was looking down into the water.

Most of the boats were constructed to be an exact size to fit the lock with little room left on the sides. If the child fell in, it could mean death by being crushed by the boat for anyone who went in after her.

The girl and her father both called out to the child, she stopped, looking in their direction, the other children catching up to her. While they breathed a sigh of relief, the children called to the dog, but their words turned to cries as they watched the animal pitch into the canal.

Javier ran along the canal with the father. Striding along the side of the boat, Martin dropped off of the deck and into the water, scooping up the dog in his arms. Javier took a leap, landing back on the boat, and knelt down to take the dog from his partner. Sitting the shivering animal on the desk, he offered a hand to Martin, who pulled himself back onto the boat.

"Are you out of your mind? You could have been killed for a dog," Javier asked, gesturing to the animal that sat forlornly dripping water in a pool on the deck.

Martin had the good grace to look confused, as if he had just taken the most logical action in the circumstance. "The animal needed help." He stepped over to the small dog, and lifted it gently. Cradling the animal he walked to the back of the boat and handed it off to the waiting children.

Once the gates were opened, the young girl came back and pressed a warm quiche into Javier's hands. "Mama wants him to have this," she said quietly.

Javier nodded to the girl and went to the cabin, dropping off the quiche on the table. "The family sent you this."

Erik concentrated on guiding the boat out of the lock, making no reply.

* * *

_September, Ghent's Chinese Quarter, Belguim_

Once they were in the store, the Chinese motioned for them to go to the back. At the desk, an older man took out a key and handed it to Erik. "The Garden house in the Abeelstraat near the bridge," he said quietly. "Midnight the moon shall rise."

Erik nodded, pocketed the key and left. The Chinese watched with respectful eyes, opening the way to the door.

Once in the street Javier asked, "What was that about? Is that our next cargo?" He glanced around to make sure they weren't followed.

Erik went directly to the boat. "No. We will meet them at the place he refers to as the Garden House after midnight."

Javier yawned. "Can't they just conduct their business at a better hour?"

He didn't look at Javier. "I can go alone if you aren't up to it."

Something important was going to happen, Javier could feel it in his bones. "No, I'm coming."

The house that they were looking for was not the sort that Javier had hoped would be referred to as a Garden house. Like all the other buildings in the city, they were three floors tall, narrow, bricked and the front doors opened directly onto the sidewalks. He had hoped to see some grand building with plants around it.

Erik walked up to the front door and opened it with the key, quickly motioning Javier inside; he closed the door behind them.

Entering, the interior more than made up for the bland outside of the house. The walls were painted in Red with golden trimmings. The furniture in the sitting room was low and made of dark wood with gorgeous curved legs. Cabinets sat along a wall, in the dark lacquered wood, they sported large highly polished brass closings in elegant circular shapes, long red tassels hung from the latches. Strangely shaped lamps with silk shades illuminated the room. Incense curled in a bowl on a side table, and a vase of large white peonies decorated the other side table.

Along one wall was a curious couch. It looked like a bed with a handle at either end. Sitting in the middle was a small woman. Her colorful and highly embroidered silk robes were arranged carefully about her, he hands pulled up into the sleeves. Her feet were covered by the lower part of her gown and there was a small footstool underneath its hem.

Javier thought she must be older, for although her hair was dark as night, her eyes held a wisdom beyond the years of the young. Her face was carefully painted in cosmetics that made her skin a startling white, with rouge painted over the tops of her cheeks and across her eyes. The eyes and brows were lined in the darkest black. A single spot in the center of her lips sported a carnelian lip coloring, making her mouth look tiny. As still as she sat, she might have been a porcelain doll.

Erik stepped over the threshold of the room, and bowed gracefully. A man moved forward to stand before the woman on the couch; he said something in his native language. To Javier it was softly voiced, lilting, and punctuated with exotic sounds. Martin did not respond, only bowed again to the other man. Javier stood his ground. As he had only recently taken up with Martin he did not know whether he had traded with these people before, and waited.

The man, who had moved forward, was dressed in European clothes, his hair cut in the current fashion. Only his skin color and the shape of his eyes would proclaim him Asiatic. "My name is Wang Te-k'un, may I present the Lady Meng."

Javier watched as once again Martin bowed slowly. He repeated the movement from where he stood at the threshold. He could at least look like he had manners.

The woman continued to examine them, and then spoke in lilting Chinese which the man translated for them. "She gives you greeting, monsieur. She has need of your most excellent services."

Erik waited for the woman to continue. She looked him over carefully, and said, "_Chou._" The young man cast her a glance, and she motioned imperiously.

"She says that you are ugly. Please understand, in our language she has paid you a compliment. The word she uses means you are ugly with the connotation of charm. You display some interest to her, because of your distinction."

_¡Cristo!_, Javier prayed. He hoped Martin was in a mood to make money. No one had ever called him ugly to his face in a charming way or otherwise that he had ever heard tell.

Erik mused on the connotations of the words. At least she had meant he was an interesting kind of ugly. "_Sie-sie_," he replied, giving her thanks in her own language.

She motioned again, and her interpreter began, "The Lady Meng is a concubine to Chen Zizhuang. It is to their daughter, Li Mei that I was married. My wife recently passed on and has left me a widower with a small daughter." He stopped momentarily. "I do not know how familiar with our culture, monsiuers. But according to our custom it is the responsibility of the Mother to see to her daughter's chances for suitable marriage."

"And if the Mother dies the Mother in law takes over," Erik finished, watching the Lady Meng.

She began the Chinese again, her heading bobbing side to side, her mouth twisting in a snarl and her gestures dismissive. "The Lady Meng does not wish this for her granddaughter. As she is my child, I do not wish this for her either," Wang Te-k'un said.

Silence filled the room for a moment. Erik glanced backwards at Javier. "They are going to want us to smuggle the child out of the country."

Javier balked, "Oh, now wait a minute. You aren't seriously thinking of taking this job?" Javier looked at the Lady Meng again, "No offense, but running away with children is not our sort of work is it? Surely there are laws here in Belgium we will be breaking; we may wind up in jail. We are going to jeopardize the chance of any further business in this country if we have trouble with the authorities."

Martin was quiet a moment, turning to consider the Father. In a quiet voice he asked, "Lady, will you show him your feet?"

The man translated while Javier looked askance at his partner. What did the woman's feet have to do with this conversation?

The older woman and Erik continued to stare at one another, her obsidian eyes shifted to Javier and she exposed a hand to take up a cane. She wrapped it on the floor sharply and a young servant scurried into the room. Javier watched as the child pulled the Lady's robes away, revealing tiny, slippered feet.

Erik motioned him forward, the Lady began speaking again. "When I was three years old, my Mother wanted to assure that I would make a good wife. In my country, this means we have our feet bound."

Javier saw a small embroidered slipper on the woman's foot, but something was very wrong with the foot. Stepping forward, his first impression was that she had the clubbed foot he had seen on cripples. Her feet were impossibly small and shaped like a hoof.

The Lady continued, "My mother broke my toes and doubled my foot back in the bindings over a block of wood. For the next three years I was forced to walk on my feet until they broke completely." She stopped for a moment, her lips twisted and she spoke again in a voice filled with emotion. "My Mother loved me! It was her duty to bind my feet so that a man would wish to marry me. It was her duty to listen to my cries day and night for the pain in my feet. Since the day the binding began, I have never walked."

Javier though of his two sisters, he would never have dreamed of putting them through this. The thought of a mother doing this to her own child made him feel physically sick. How could the Chinese force this on their daughters?

Erik added quietly, "Most of the women can hardly walk. They have no future in life except to marry a man who will support them."

Javier looked at Lady Meng again. She sat regally in her elegant silks, amid the splendor of her home. A home she could not even walk in. "That makes them prisoners then doesn't it?"

Erik nodded. "Prisoners to the whims of their husbands, as well as prisoners to the pain they live in."

The old woman nodded slowly, her voice full of emotion, "I want my granddaughter to be free. I want her to know how it is to walk, and to dance, as I never could."

Wang Te-k'un added, "It is my desire as well. We do not live in China anymore. We moved into the Western world to seek our fortunes with our families. We do not forsake our customs, but this," he motioned to Lady Meng, "is a custom that no longer has a place in our lives. Unfortunately, my Mother does not agree. Since my wife died, the responsibility will fall to my Mother."

The Lady spoke again, her tone grim. "She presses for the _san zun jin lian_, the 'Golden Lotus'. A foot three inches in length, a foot even smaller than mine. The pain will be relentless; my granddaughter might even die from her foot rotting as the toes loose blood and decay under the bandages."

With that picture in mind, Javier turned and headed for the door. Once outside he put his back to the wall and took deep breaths. He felt flushed, and dizzy. He tried to put the horror of the little girl's suffering out of his mind. A child turning to a Mother who was forced by her society to make her daughter endure the years of pain.

They waited until Javier returned. One look at his partner's face told Erik that he had made the right decision to take the young man on.

Javier sketched a bow towards their hosts. "Let's get on with it."

"Lady Meng, your words have touched our hearts." Erik told her.

She nodded gracefully. "You understand don't you? You have suffered in your own prison of flesh."

"Yes," Erik replied, he new all about the hell of pain and suffering. "You will not have to worry for your granddaughter. We will see that she is free."

Lady Meng sat unchanged, but the father's eyes glistened with unshed tears, "Thank you," he said, and bowed.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Golden Lotus**

_Chapter Three: September, the Garden House, Ghent, Belgium_

Lady Meng sat unchanged, but the father's eyes glistened with unshed tears, "Thank you," he said, and bowed.

She tapped her cane again, and the servant moved forward, gesturing towards the back of the house. Erik directed Javier to follow. Javier met the older woman's eyes. He bowed once again to her. He hoped she understood the promise in that gesture.

Going out a back door, Javier stepped into the garden the house was named for. It stretched back several yards, a meandering path of stones took them on a journey through trees, shrubs, and a bridged pool of water that was illuminated by elegantly carved arching stone lanterns. On the far side of the pool sat a pavilion. As they entered the structure a older man stepped forward. Short in stature like his countrymen, the man's grizzled face was a map of a harsh life.

Wang Te-k'un came in behind them, "This is Yunhua. He is a servant of Lady Meng's family. He will work with you to take my daughter to safety."

Javier asked, "What is your daughter's name?"

Wang Te-k'un replied, "I do not wish to tell you that, in case the name is overheard." He paused and looked back at the house. "The custom of binding is not the only one that has changed. Servants in China would serve their families or die in shame. It is possible that some servant here may find the promise of money more important and tell my family of your whereabouts. I do not wish to jeopardize my daughter's chance to get out of Belgium. For now, we shall simply call her Mei-Mei."

Erik nodded, "It means _little sister_," he told Javier.

Wang Te-k'un continued, "On Thursday evening, my family will be attending the theater. I plan to give Mei-Mei to a servant to take to the water closet. After they leave, Yunhua will take my daughter. You are to meet him at the warehouse on Doornsteeg, number 15. We have arranged a cargo for you to load, so that your presence there will not cause any questions."

Yunhua added, "We will smuggle Mei-Mei onto your boat inside the cargo."

Erik nodded. "All right. I presume we get final instructions at that point?"

"Yes," Wang Te-k'un answered, looking at Javier he added, "once again, in case some of the Wang family hears of this. The less you know, the less you can tell them."

Erik shook his head and looked at Javier, "That doesn't mean that they won't take you and torture for days to see if you know more."

"What are you saying?" Javier asked.

"I'm saying you don't have to agree to this, Javier. If this man's family gets their hands on any of us," Erik gestured, including Yunhua, "they will not show any mercy."

Javier shook his head, "I'm not quitting."

Erik agreed. "I'm not either." He had committed enough wrongs in his life; he needed these small victories against the darkness that continually threatened to consume him again. If he could save one little girl from a life of pain, the darkness would be held farther back. Someday he hoped to see the sunrise to banish the darkness in his soul.

00000

Erik worked on the papers spread out on the table top. Javier came in with a bag of food from the local shops. Putting it away, he folded up the shopping bag and tossed it the cabinet. He moved to sit on the other stool by the table.

"I'd suggest you take a nap if you can. We might be out quite late tonight."

Javier marveled at the man's quiet composure. "Doesn't anything ever get to you?"

Erik looked at his partner, "In what way?"

Javier gave a short bark of disbelieving laughter and raised his hands in a helpless gesture, "Oh, I don't know. Maybe getting arrested for kidnapping, or the thought of being tortured, or running around the docks hauling a crate with a child in it while being hunted by her family?"

"Javier, I am a firm believer in preparation. If you make plans for the worst case that can happen, you will spare yourself the complications of extricating yourself from trouble."

"_Estricating_?"

Erik sighed, "It means to remove yourself." He gestured over his shoulder, "If you can't sleep, then bring your book over and read to me."

Javier ran a hand over his eyes. He was too keyed up already to nap. Getting up he went for the book. Why Martin insisted on his learning to read in French was beyond him. He reclaimed his stool, and opened the book.

00000

Javier pulled the wagon up to the warehouse. Getting down he secured the horses, and followed his partner to the door. Inside were row upon row of crates stacked to the ceiling. To their right was the small office where they would pick up the paperwork for the cargo. Martin lifted a chin towards the crates, then spun on his heel and went into the office.

Javier moved to the end of the crates, wandering down a row, reading the company names, numbers, and content warnings stenciled on the wood. These crates were made for a one way trip: not sturdy enough to be re-used, they had been stenciled with the manufacturer's name. Taking a closer look at them, he saw a line of Chinese characters, and the emblem of a horse. Walking further he noticed the same company name, but other groups of crates marked with a dragon, and what looked to be a flower.

Martin arrived, he flashed the paper at Javier, who saw instantly that he had written upon it 'six horse, two flower, six dragon.' He nodded his assent, and went back to the wagon. Pulling it to the door, they stacked the crates.

Javier worked, not looking around as he did. He really didn't want to know if he was being watched. The though of it gave him a feeling like a load of snakes writhing in his belly. Martin seemed consumed in his details as always, stopping him once to correct how the crates were loaded. Ah yes, _two_ flower, not flower, dragon, flower. Putting one back down, they continued to load.

"What's in the crates," Javier asked.

"Porcelains with Chinese designs. They are large pots that set upon carved wooden legs."

There was quite a furor at the berthing spot for the _Erebus_. The dock people weren't happy that they had parked the wagon and left it sitting in front of the cargo winch. Martin made a lot of loud, grousing comments about the slow warehouse help delaying them, and that he was going to get dinner before he finished clearing the load and putting it into the boat.

The dock workers tried threats and begging, even offering to pitch in to shift the crates, but finally threw up their hands and stomped off, swearing at the crazy scarred man. Javier shrugged, adding "Hey, feel sorry for me. He's my boss."

"Come on. Let's hit the local tavern," Erik told him.

"Should we leave it unguarded," Javier asked.

Erik stepped closer and looked steadily at him. "What makes you think it isn't?" At his partner's gaping mouth, he added, "Close your mouth, Javier. You will be catching flies." He turned and walked away, leaving Javier to catch up.

00000

Erik snapped closed the cover of his pocket watch. "It's time." He tossed money down on the table and moved towards the tavern door.

One of the serving girls gave Javier a longing look, and he turned to sigh and put a hand over his heart, "Maybe next time, Simonette."

Erik pressed on out the door. If the Spaniard hadn't proven to be such a valuable partner, these outbursts of female attention might have driven him to get rid of Javier. Truth be told, it was envy he felt. Why God, he wondered again, why the scales were tipped in the favor of some men, while his was woefully empty.

He walked along looking at the lights reflecting off of the river. You know the answer, you must be worthy. For two years now he had worked to build a life, a reputation, where he could make something of himself besides a petty tyrant and a murderer. He wanted to enjoy a walk in the sunshine without looking over his shoulder. He wanted to find what happiness he could, secure in his new guise.

He thought of Christine. The haunting look in her eyes as she pushed the ring into his hand and turned slowly away. What does it mean? Were you giving me a piece of your heart? Were you sad for me, for us? Did you _pity_ me? Did you love me even a little? The quiet sounds from the river were the only answer he heard.

00000

Erik whipped the tarp off of the top of the crates. Javier had gone onto the boat, opening up a hatch that dropped directly into the lower cargo deck. They were halfway through loading the crates when Javier noticed they weren't alone.

A shadow wavered at the end of the warehouse. Javier glanced in his partner's direction, Erik stood next to the winch, securing another crate. He gave Javier a pointed look in return.

A Chinese man walked with cat-like quiet towards them, "_Nee how_," he said.

Erik turned to him, giving him a flat stare. Javier glanced at the man; he seemed awfully comfortable for an unarmed man facing down the look Martin was giving him. Javier waited to see what was going to happen next.

"You don't understand, ah?" the man asked. "You have some of the Wang family property."

Erik replied, "_Jien tah-duh gway_."

Javier perked up, that sounded like an insult. "What did you say?"

"I said 'like hell'."

The Chinese bristled, "_Gou tsao de_ Frenchman!"

Erik's lips twisted in disdain, the cold look from his eye should have misted the air in ice crystals. "He called me a dog-humping Frenchman," he gritted out.

He stepped over to the winch and hoisted one of the crates, swinging it wildly over the edge of the boat, he let go of the crate, it smacked onto the water with a sharp splash.

Javier opened his mouth to yell, but Martin's taunt stopped him. "You want your crate, you're going to have to swim, you _Hwoon dahn_."

The man on the quay was moving, four other men appeared from near a warehouse and came running onto the boat, reaching for the crate. The leader rushed towards Erik, another of his companions pulled Erik away by the arms, and the group worked to get a hold of the crate, like some insane octopus, a jumble of dark clad arms snatching at the wood.

Javier saw Yunhua running towards the group. He shouted something at Martin and joined the man at the winch trying to raise the crate.

Erik shrugged off his attacker, and shoved the man aside. "Javier!"

Javier turned disbelieving eyes towards Martin. "Holy Mary, Mother of God. You just dropped that little girl." He raced off the boat towards the winch. He moved to help hoist the crate up with the other two men, but Erik grabbed him by the shoulders of his coat and hauled him sharply back, twisting him around, he shoved him towards the wagon, "Get on," he commanded.

Javier turned disbelieving eyes on his partner. Surely even Martin could not be this mercenary. He glanced towards the boat; they had gotten the crate under control and were hoisting it out. But after it rose a few feet above the water, the winch cut loose with a flurry of rapidly flying chains and dropped it back into the inky water. It sank like a stone into the river. "Oh my God."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **The practice of foot binding is steeped in many stories of its possible origin, but all agree it began in the T'ang Dynasty (618-906). Outlawed by the Communists in China, it was still practiced as late as 1949. There are reputed to be under 400 women left in China with bound feet.

A Mother's duty was to build her daughter's character and ensure a beneficial marriage. Un-bound woman were said to have "clown feet." Many districts in the South left the women unbound, due to farm work. Although started by the aristocrats, binding was done by many a poor woman in hopes that her daughter would rise above her station. It was also said to be popularized because of the belief that the shifted pelvic gate produced a more pleasurable experience for the husband during intercourse.

**The Golden Lotus**

Chapter Four: _September, Doornsteeg Docks, Ghent, Belgium_

Javier turned towards the boat; they had gotten the crate under control and were hoisting it out. But after it rose a few feet above the water, the winch cut loose with a flurry of rapidly flying chains and dropped it back into the inky water. It sank like a stone into the river. "Oh my God."

Javier climbed into the wagon, and sat down heavily on the seat. Erik took up the reigns; a sharp crack got the horses moving. Driving the wagon away from the river, they built up speed as they left behind the shouting men who were jumping into the river.

Javier took one last look, seeing the old man, Yunhua, his shoulders hunched, standing vigil like a marble angel in a graveyard. He grabbed hold of the seat, as Martin whipped the horses again.

They slowed only enough to take a corner and another before Erik whipped the horses again. The wheels clattered on the cobblestones, jarring enough to tear apart the wheel rims. Javier held on, too deadened to worry about being smashed into a building in the next turn. Sliding down into the dark embrace of the water was the little girl he had hoped to help.

Erik reined in the horses so sharply, their shod hoofs cast sparks on the stones as they tried to stop. Their heads jerked up, slinging froth over their backs. They stood quivering in their traces. The sudden stillness after the ride shook Javier from his reverie. Erik jumped down to the street.

"What," Javier said, looking around. He stood shakily gaping down at the scarred man. "What the hell did you just do?" He dropped down off the wagon and grabbed Martin by the arm, "You cold hearted bastard! You just dropped that little girl to her death!"

Erik shrugged off Javier's arm. "No, you imbecile, that was only _one_ of the crates marked with a flower." He gestured grandly towards the other crate that sat nestled in the line with the ones marked with horses.

Javier could only stare at the crate. He felt an odd prickling sensation in his eyes, and thought he might actually shed tears he was so relieved.

Erik added, "That is, of course, unless you have forgotten how I trained you to load your crates." The Spaniard's face was a study in shifting emotions; relief, startlement, befuddlement, and then anger.

"I did it the way you taught me," he said indignantly.

Erik gave him a small smile, "Now you know why." He climbed up onto the wagon, tapping on the crate calling, "Mei-Mei?"

There came a small tapping sound from the crate and a muffled voice.

"Grab the crow bar from under the seat, Javier. We can get her out now."

The nails shrieked as they separated from the wooden lid of the crate, curled inside the enormous porcelain pot was the small girl, she looked up at them and smiled.

Erik started to reach for the child, but held back. The old nightmare crawled inside him; maybe she would be afraid of him. "Javier, get her out of there and follow me," he said gruffly.

He led them into an alley, and into the back of the storefront building of the man who had given them the key to the Garden house. Javier offered the child to a waiting Chinese woman who smoothed the girl's hair and gave her a kiss. "Thank You." She said in stilted French.

Javier and Erik stepped back as they prepared to change the girl's clothing. "She will go with us now," the old man who ran the store said. "She will be safe."

Erik looked at Javier, and took a hold of his arm. "Come on, we still have cargo to load."

Javier waved at the little girl. The woman picked up the child, but the girl started working her legs and reaching back to Javier. The woman brought her over, leaning; the girl gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Good-bye, Querida," he said, stroking her small dark head.

Erik turned envious eyes away. This was not for him. He waited for Javier to join him when a small hand touched his shoulder. Turning he saw the woman had brought the girl near, her small hands clenching for him. Leaning down, he watched as her little face came closer, and she gave him a sloppy kiss on his chin. Pulling back she smiled, "Sie-sie," she said.

"You're welcome, Mei-Mei," he said gently. He left the store quickly, Javier wasn't the only sentimental fool in the building, he felt the mist of tears in his eyes.

* * *

"How did you rig the crate to drop?" Javier asked.

"Simple physics," Erik replied. "First I estimated the weight of the crate with Mei-Mei in it. Then I had to figure out, if a crate went in and took on water, how heavy would it be? The answer was 160 pounds because the porcelains were 20 gallon sized, and water is 8 pounds per gallon. So, I rigged the gear on the cargo winch to fail when it was pulled by the extra weight."

Javier helped him put another crate in the hold. "Alright, I understand that, but when did you do it? I was with you the whole time."

"No you weren't. In the warehouse I had you walk away. Yunhua was in the office, and I asked him how much Mei-Mei weighed and which crate she would be in."

"Ah, but there were _two_ crates marked with a flower," Javier replied, thinking he had found a flaw in the story.

"I marked it when we put it in the wagon. I ran the toe of my boot over the bottom of the crate, leaving a black line." Erik gave Javier a moment to further figure out the mystery.

"Yes, but how did Yunhua know? Did he see you?"

"No. Remember when you asked if someone was guarding the crates?"

"Yes."

"Yes," Erik said simply.

"Yes, but…when did you get a chance to tell them?"

"I turned my back to the boat and replied to you, when I did I brushed my hand over the crate. Wang Te-k'un's other conspirator saw it, and relayed the information to Yunhua who was to arrive, and try to help get the crate, furthering the story that the girl had drowned." He stopped, leaving Javier to ruminate over the details of the evening.

"One thing," Javier held up a hand. "This means the Wang family will be after you. You can't come back to Ghent can you?"

Erik agreed, "The Wang's will definitely not forget this. Of course, in a few months the Father will emigrate and join Mei-Mei, so they will eventually put it all together."

Javier considered Martin; he had willingly sacrificed a part of his livelihood for a child he would never see again. "You are a good man."

Erik gave a bark of laughter, "That isn't what you thought about an hour ago." Despite his outward reaction, Javier's words were now etched somewhere on his heart.

"What are they going to pay you for all of this?"

Erik watched the Spaniard as he spoke, "All the dragon and horse crate porcelains."

"Is that all?" Javier actually felt faint. They had put themselves in danger for some large Chinese flower pots?

Erik later pulled a dark lacquered box out of one of those pots. Decorated with mother of pearl flowers, and lined in red silk the box contained a bank draft. Javier's share was easily what he would make in the next year.

Sitting with the box later, Erik noticed how once it was open, there was a small area where the bottom inside was not flush with the dimensions of the box. Turning the box around, he moved his fingers over it, and was rewarded when a small door at the back popped open revealing a small compartment. He had just the right sized item to store in such a spot.

* * *

"I've been bought out; we are now employed by De La Shaumette."

Javier wasn't surprised, Martin was always restless, but lately his movements seemed more taut than usual. He must have tired of the river; they had been pulling in short hauls that kept them running in and out of Rouen for the last month.

"We are to meet with him at his home," Erik told him, "this is the address."

Javier took the card the man offered. It was one of those proper cards men with money had printed. The embossed letters at the top had 'DLS' and a street address just south of the river. At the bottom was written a date and time. He grinned, "What, no carriage to pick us up?"

Erik shook his head and walked away, "Just be sure you bathe, you oaf."

Javier looked at his work shirt, "Hey, I _bathe_."

Stepping up to the door he knocked, and was ushered in by a slight older man. "Monsieur De La Shaumette says to proceed up stairs. Just at the top and on the left is the Study." He turned away, "Oh, and knock. He doesn't like to be disturbed." The servant was joined by a woman, and they both left the house.

How odd, to make an appointment at the hour when the servants were due to leave for the day. Javier shrugged mentally; men with money could do as they pleased. He proceeded to the study door, and rapped once. A voice drifted through, "Enter."

Swinging open the door, Javier took in a wood paneled room. To his right was a chair and side table by a fireplace. Standing in front of the fireplace was a man dressed in a dark frock coat, his hands behind his back, he stared impassively.

"Come in, Javier."

The voice was recognizable, the apparition before him was not. "_Madre de Dios_," Javier said. The black patch was gone, replaced by a white material that covered his face from just above his lips to his hair line. The hair was combed back and brushed his elaborate collar. His cravat sported a large scintillating jewel. Javier's eyes went back to the mask; he had a perfectly good right eye?

"Close the door, Monsieur Fernandez, and your mouth. You're not here to catch flies like a frog." Erik walked to the large desk that sat behind the door. He lifted two brandy snifters, and offered one to Javier, "I thought you might need this." The younger man's face was almost comical.

Javier closed the door, and stepped forward to take the drink. "Please tell me this is not some joke."

"Oh, no," Erik reassured him, "this is real." He went to the chair behind the desk and sat down, waving a hand towards one that sat opposite.

Javier sat down carefully; the chair was lined in leather, and looked expensive. He took another glance around the room, everything looked expensive, the carpet, the desk, and the chairs. He looked back at the man he knew as Charles Martin. "You are…"

"I am De La Shaumette," Erik replied. He gestured around the room. "Charles Martin could not afford this, nor would he be accepted in business circles. De La Shaumette is a newly arrived business man with three boats, and a growing number of investments."

Light was dawning in Javier's mind; his voice turned accusing, "This is what you did with all that money. This is why you lived on that stinking boat?"

Erik brows drew together, "My boat does not stink!"

"You know what I mean." Javier shook his head. "You should have had more, you were smart," he pointed towards his head, "always thinking the next step." He paused and took another sip of Brandy.

"And so I was," Erik replied smoothly. "But there are problems with this change in ownership. Charles Martin must still be seen occasionally. I want to keep the two men separate."

Javier snorted, "You mean you want to keep Martin busy doing your spying. There isn't a fly that farts on a wall in Paris that you don't know about it."

Erik smiled. "I made my money in information. I want to keep a finger on the pulse of the river. Very few of the speculators actually know what is going on along the docks. That has been one of my advantages." He pointed a finger at Javier, "And that is why I shall employ you."

Javier froze. Pieces were still falling into place, his mind replaying conversations they had had, the people he had met, the books. The entire picture was coming to light at last. "That's why you taught me to read."

"Exactly," Erik replied, "you will need that and several other skills as well to do your work for me. You will report here in the morning for your daily assignments."

"How am I going to explain this?" Javier asked. "People are going to ask questions."

Erik looked directly into his eyes, slowly turning his glass where it sat on the desk, "You tell them you work for De La Shaumette. That is all they need to know. I already have a reputation for privacy. No one has seen me except for my servants," he paused, his voice flat, "and you."

Javier heard the threat in that voice, the menace behind those intense green eyes. The message was implicitly clear; no one would know who De La Shaumette really was. He might be engaging in a deal with the devil himself, but this man had saved his life, and was offering him the chance to take a step up and out of the squalor of the docks. It was a chance that life in France would never hand to an immigrant Spaniard. He sat down his glass and got to his feet, offering this man his hand.

Erik took his hand in a firm grip. He didn't care for shaking hands, but this was more than a handshake. It was a pact between two men, men whose lives and fates depended upon the other. With Javier's assistance, he would move into a haven where no one would see the phantom's mask, into a life with a future.

"You start tomorrow." He withdrew a key from the pocket of his beautifully embroidered vest. "This is for the front door. Agnes and Etienne Bardou arrive before ten o'clock. They take care of some of my errands, and keep up my home." He sat down again to withdraw a piece of paper from one of the desk drawers, it was a bank draft. "This is your first month's salary."

Javier glanced at the draft. It was made out for an amount two and half times what he made in an average month on the river.

"Make sure some of that finds its way to your parents. Why they let you live with them is beyond me."

"That is the way it is done. A man stays to help repay the family until he weds." Javier considered the man before him. No wife, no family, was ever mentioned. Either life had somehow cast him adrift with no one, or he had lost what he had. He could not feel sorry for him; he was a survivor, and a smart one at that. "Rafaela and her husband are awaiting their second baby. No doubt my Mother will spend the money on her."

"Another child already, I thought she had just had her daughter," Erik mused.

"Monsieur, it only takes nine months to have another." He smiled lazily at the man across from him. "Now that you are not that surly pirate, you should give it a try."

Erik felt the stirring of hope, and crushed it like an annoying itch that forever was beyond being scratched. He made a careless open handed gesture indicating his face. "This never changes." He was surprised how raw his voice sounded. He was allowing a dying emotion to resurrect itself.

"It's not the face. It's what is in your eyes, Monsieur."

Erik spoke again as if he had not heard Javier's words. "No one looks beyond the mask."

"I learned to," Javier replied. They sat in silence finishing their drinks. Javier got up, "I'll see you in the morning."

With the same eye towards the artifice that had conjured Mei-Mei's supposed demise, Martin's magic had transformed Javier's life as well as his own.

The End


End file.
